Renard seemed to give up arguing and let out a low breath. The white puff it made in the cold air was too light to be a sigh.

Vivian guessed it was something in the family of a laugh. All the more so because Renard flustered and moved quickly on to the next place.

The last stop on the tour was the greenhouse.

Built of glass and iron framing, the greenhouse sat on the south side of the main castle. The moment the door opened, Vivian drew in a deep breath without thinking. The smell of earth and leaves. The first green scent she caught since leaving Petrasia.

Outside the glass, snow began to drift again, but inside, blue-green leaves grew with full vitality, seemingly unaware of the northern cold. Alongside the rows where winter vegetables grew, unnamed white flowers stood in pots lined up in a row.

“Helen tends it. Most of it is for the kitchen.”

For once, Vivian had no attention to spare for a reply. She walked slowly between the rows and touched a leaf with her fingertip.

She didn’t expect to find it here. Freshness was alive even in this place. The small, warm space hidden in the middle of a cold glass castle felt like the man standing before her. The corners of her mouth rose. It was not the calculated smile she usually wore.

She looked up without thinking. Her eyes met Renard’s. He seemed to have been watching her all along. He wasn’t moving, but Vivian sensed he was embarrassed, like someone caught sneaking a look.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Do you like flowers?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“Then I’ll keep away from the greenhouse, so come by whenever you like.”

Vivian pretended not to hear the last sentence and bent down to smell one of the unnamed white flowers. Renard’s voice came from behind her, slightly rough at the edges.

“If the flowers aren’t enough, tell Helen. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Would there be roses?”

Renard shook his head at her question.

“Roses can’t survive in this land. Even in a greenhouse, the winters in the North are long.”

“I wonder.”

Vivian walked out from among the pots of white flowers and shrugged.

“I came here just fine.”

It took Renard a moment to understand what she meant. Vivian reached that conclusion because he turned away at a peculiar moment and began walking back alone.

Somehow, she felt she could begin to read the expression behind his mask, little by little. The drifting snowflakes were not as cold as she expected.

* * *

Dinner was laid out in the hall.

An almost comical number of dishes covered the long table for just two people sitting across from each other. The spread made a mockery of Helen’s earlier complaint that the kitchen was sluggish from so long without guests.

There was steaming venison stew, roasted root vegetables still fragrant, fruit that looked freshly picked, and white bread baked in the capital style. For something put together so recently, the care taken to consider the palate of a bride from the capital showed throughout.

What bothered Vivian was not the menu.

Renard’s place had no plate. No glass, no cutlery, no napkin. He sat at the empty setting with his back straight, like a man presiding over a meeting.

“Won’t you eat with me?”

“I already ate separately.”

A lie. Vivian swallowed the words silently. Eating required lifting the mask.

Because no one was permitted to see the face beneath it, he was allowed only solitary meals. Alone in an empty room with the door bolted, lifting just enough of the mask to eat quickly and silence his hunger. The image came to her too easily. So she didn’t press further.

She couldn’t get everything on the first day to begin with. And in her mind, the most important matter of the day hadn’t started yet.

She was genuinely grateful enough that Renard stayed to fill a seat, so she didn’t have to sit alone at the vast table for her first dinner.

She expressed that gratitude by eating well. It was a deliberate choice, of course, but not purely strategic. Helen’s stew was genuinely excellent, and the fruit from the greenhouse was sweet. On top of that, she ate nothing all day because of the wedding, so strategy occupied only a small corner of her mind.

Once she was reasonably full, she felt a gaze from the other end of the table. Every time she looked up, Renard promptly dropped his eyes. The third time it happened, Vivian calmly lifted her wine glass without letting on. The red liquid caught the candlelight and gleamed like a garnet.

“Since the Grand Duke has no glass, I suppose I’ll have to toast alone.”

Renard looked up. Vivian smiled quietly.

“May our marriage be blessed.”

She tilted the glass slightly and drained it slowly. She swallowed it all, the ceremony where not a single person offered congratulations, the empty chapel, and the guests who scattered like they were fleeing.

When she set the glass down, Renard was still watching her. This time, instead of looking away, he spoke in a slightly quieter voice.

“……I’m sorry. I couldn’t even fill your glass.”

“Do it at the next meal.”

“The next meal?”

His voice cracked, seemingly not expecting there to be a next time. Vivian pretended not to notice and pressed her napkin to her lips.

If I tease him a little more, will he bolt? She was still weighing it when Renard abruptly rose from his seat and called for Helen.

“Show the Grand Duchess to her bedroom.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He was already running away and they barely even started. Vivian watched his retreating back with a click of her tongue. Helen caught the look and smiled gently.

Led by Helen, the bedroom Vivian arrived at was excellent. A fire burned in the hearth and the bedding was new. The tapestry was elegant and smelled pleasant. There was nothing to fault. She did wonder, however, whether this was truly meant to be her room.

“Your luggage from the capital is in the north annex.”

Helen explained, seemingly in answer to her unspoken question.

“His lordship designated that room as the Grand Duchess’s bedroom, but oh my, old and dim-eyed as I am, I seem to have taken the southern route by mistake. I do apologize, but if it isn’t too inconvenient, might you stay in this room just for tonight? It would weigh on me to send you back in the opposite direction after what must have been quite an exhausting day.”

Vivian didn’t point out the transparent lie. She saw this kind of loyal retainer from time to time. Helen met Vivian’s gaze, which said plainly that she saw through it all and wanted the real reason, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes creased warmly.

“The room directly across is His Lordship’s bedroom. As I am the only one bold enough to enter, you need not worry about locking your door.”

“I think I’ll like this room better than the north one.”

“Then I’ll have your luggage moved here first thing tomorrow morning.”

Helen bowed deeply and backed out of the room. Left alone, Vivian opened the wardrobe without bothering to hide her smile. Several new evening gowns hung inside, every one of them in designs Vivian favored and made fashionable back in the capital.

The housekeeper is impressive. Vivian pulled the corners of her mouth up with satisfaction. It was perfectly obvious without consulting a fortune teller that her husband wouldn’t be coming on their wedding night, but that was fine.

She dismissed the maid. Dressing herself was something she was used to. She wrapped a white shawl over the pale sky-blue evening gown that Helen likely chose.

A mirror, small but present, sat in this room, something she saw in none of the places Renard showed her. Whose doing it was needed no asking. She checked her hair one last time and stepped out of the room.

The corridor was quiet. The row of candlesticks tried to light the dim path, but it was not enough to drive away the particular gloom of the place.

The door across the hall was enormous. The commotion from just before the wedding ceremony overlapped with the sight of it. This time there was no maid to stop her. Vivian knocked instead of simply opening the door.

“Grand Duke.”

Something fell on the other side of the door.

“……Grand Duchess?”

“Will you open it? Or shall I just open it like this morning?”

After a silence, the door opened from inside. Renard appeared to have already washed. He was in just a comfortable shirt. His hair looked dry, but the heat and faint dampness rising from his skin told her it hadn’t been long. She didn’t think he would look impressive dressed down, but the frame showing unguarded through the thin shirt was better than expected.

“What…… is it?”